


you have not loved me well enough

by olivemartini



Series: A Study in Sherlock [5]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Pining, Sort Of, Unrequited Love, angry violin playing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-07
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-06-06 13:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15196193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/olivemartini/pseuds/olivemartini
Summary: Some people would say that Sherlock does not care.Those people are wrong.





	you have not loved me well enough

The strings are breaking underneath his hands and he cannot force himself to be gentle, he is not a gentle being, there is nothing but sharp edges in this soul of his and he has cut himself on his own shards too many times to think that he can by anything but brutal, anything but a monster, he is not a being that is used to being loved, and yet, that must be what this is, between the two of them, this thing that burns up in his chest whenever he thinks of him.

The violin screams, loud and terrible, and John is watching him from his chair over the top of his newspaper, and Sherlock can tell that he is right on the verge of asking if he is okay, if he needs anything, if he is upset, and the fondness in his eyes is threatening to swallow him up, but better get rid of the sentiment, blink away the tears, because three, two, one-

"Sherlock."  A pause, the creaking that meant he was shifting in the chair, steeling himself for the fight just in case Sherlock was in the mood.  "Are you alright?"

"Fine, John."   _No, I'm not, and it's all because of you, you in this flat with those jumpers, you at the crime scene beside me, you loving me and not telling me, did you really think that you could keep it a secret, John, I see everything even when its easier not to, you see it yourself._ "Just tired."

"Bed, then?"  He is always trying to help, John, in ways that Sherlock knows is better -he can feel the difference, the newfound clarity whenever he listens to John, when he eats, when he sleeps, when he chugs the powerade that he had shoved into his hands-and Sherlock cannot stand it now.  "I can make you tea."

 _You love me,_ Sherlock thinks, a solid deduction, inarguable, and even Mycroft sees it, tells it to him with a whisper of a voice and a warning in his eyes, so Sherlock knows that it is not something that his mind is making up just because he so desperately wants to see it.   _You love me, and you aren't doing anything, and it is not that you are afraid, exactly, I don't think so, I wouldn't know, I haven't known what it is to be human quite in the way that everyone else is so maybe this is just something that I cannot understand, but rather, John, I think it is that you love me and are trying not to, you love me, but somehow you don't want me, and I understand them both separately but I do not know how they can come together at the same time._

"That's quite alright."  He sticks with polite.  Calm, cool, confident.  Like he doesn't care, even though he proved long ago that he does.  "I'll stay up a while longer, I think.  Tweak this a bit."  He waves the violin around in the air, like he needed proof.  "Unless you need the quiet?"

Sherlock's trying to be considerate.  He's trying to be a lot of things, now, because he cannot shake the feeling that if he were better, somehow, John would be able to love him without feeling guilty about it, without holding them both back on what could be.  

"No, that's alright."  John is looking at him with some level interest, and Sherlock knows it would not be an easy night, that there would be forced conversation between them that John has no idea is forced.  It makes Sherlock feel bad, sometimes, how little these people know.  How little John would know, if Sherlock ever decided that he wanted to hide it, if he ever cared that much to protect himself from the shockwaves of the fall out that would be John loving him.  "You composing, then?"

"Yes."  Obviously.  Idiot.  (Bad thoughts.  This is why he won't love you like you need.  Be kinder, Sherlock.  You know everything else, learn to be kind.)  "It's a new one."

"What about?"  Sherlock fixes him with a stare, and John shifts in the seat again, smiling.  "They're normally about things, Sherlock.  I do know a bit about you, you know."

 _But not this,_ Sherlock thinks, unsure if he is angry about it or not.

"Nothing in particular."  He attacks the strings again, and the sounds roars this time, loud enough to cover up the answer that almost slipped from his tongue, and Sherlock chases away the thoughts of what would happen if he turned to John and said  _you, actually, you and the fact that you don't love me well enough_ with another round of complex notes.  "Just a case, John."

"Always cases with you,"  John says, and when he turns back to the paper, he looks just as unsettled as Sherlock feels.

**Author's Note:**

> come find me on Instagram @olive.writes.fanfic


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